Sunday, August 19, 2012

Storm On An August Afternoon

I am beguiled by the late summer wind,
warm and weighty with promise of rain
just over the hills to the east, insistent,
determined to wash away our dust
in a rusty flood.

A disturbance of birds, sensing a change,
thrusts upward through bear grass and mesquite,
leaving the risky earth behind. Their wings
beat through the heavy air taking the color
from the sky into their soft breasts.

Lightning tattoos the bruised horizon
and I feel it skim the curve of my spine
like the tip of a spear, creasing my skin,
a lover’s kiss, wonder transfixing me
to the distant shadowed hills

and the clouds, oh the clouds,
how dark and deep, they whirl
above and lift the leaves and grasses
to fling themselves weightless
into the impossible light.

The meadows who wear their golden
dress all year now display in velvet jade,
the vibrant shade full of earth’s best dance
while each blade leans hungrily into the chance
to quench its thirst.
Who could bear not to be here,
with this memory on this summer’s day?
Here, where my heart pounds as each raindrop
falls like a tear on the sere and dusty ground,
greedy and always wanting more.


  1. Goosebumps! You take me there--to a place I've never been but it feels familiar. Beautiful, Nancy.

    1. Ooh, goosebumps! That's JUST what I was going for. Thanks, my friend.

  2. Wonderful images and evocations of all our senses.

    Your sense of the poetic is a gift to us all.